Year's End
by Havenhaven
Summary: FE:PoR Bastian x Volke, Volke enjoys stimulation and interest, Bastian knows and strives to keep the assassin at work in Crimea.


Bastian signed the document with a flourish, noting how the ink gleamed in the candlelight before moving on to the next document. His chamber was quite dark in the evening, with the high windows covered by thick curtains. It was also quite cold, more so with the rain running down the olden stonewalls. While the adjoining room, the count's bedchamber, contained a fireplace that he was sure the maids had lit; he usually left his work chamber without a fire. He believed the cold temperature would convince a frequent visitor of his quarters to join him in the other room, but as of yet, it had failed to do so. The candle flickered briefly, drawing Bastian's attention. The sage then watched as a shadow came forth from the door and smiled before placing his quill in the ink well.

"Dearest Volke! I trust your mission was successful?" The assassin nodded, stepping in the candlelight and running a pale hand through his short locks. Bastian noted the gathering of blood on the man's fingernails and noticed the meager cloth wrapped around the man's throat, up against the dark mask that covered his mouth and neck. "Dear me, perhaps I should send for a cleric-"

"I've an offer." Volke spoke, pulling knots from his damp hair and leaning slightly against the desk. His scarf had been discarded, as well as the cloth wound around his forehead, allowing the russet strands to fall and cast shadows in the gleaming eyes of the assassin. Bastian sighed at the tone and stood, raising a fist to his heart and sighing sadly.

"And I shall refuse it again, sweet Volke. I shall not allow you to place a price upon your body for my contentment, despite how I desire and yearn for your pleasurable company-" Volke knocked the papers and ink well to the floor with his knee, pulling the count forward as he sprung across the desk. Bastian found the other's wild golden eyes and pressed his lips to where he believed the man's were, hidden beneath the gray mask.

"A bed," Volke demanded, pulling back and tearing the moist mask from his face, features streaked with scarlet, hands shaking as his eyes grew in intensity. "-with you in it. Last chance." Bastian nodded as pale fingers forced the ribbon from his fair curls and an ungloved hand fisted in his cloak, bloodied fingers trailed by scarlet lines.

"An offer I shall accept," The count replied, smothering the candlestick before standing and pulling Volke off the desk.

--

Bastian's heavy cloak lay in a heap at the door to the bedchamber, skirted by a trail of inked boot prints. The trail continued forth, bypassing a discarded black vest and past a crumpled pair of slacks. The black prints stopped at two pairs of boots with stained undersides; one moist and leather, the clasps worn and soiled, the other trim and elegant, with a film of metal attached to the heel and toe.

A belt lay in a half circled around the boots, pulled free from its loops while its twin lay undisturbed, if undone, in the leather pants, a sheathed knife outlined in the rain-moistened material. A ruffled shirt hung off a chair, glowing white in the morning light as the maid quietly pulled the curtains apart, throwing large squares of light at the foot and the bed and walls. The red streaks trailed from the collar to the bottom hem, she noted while grabbing the shirt. The count bore no cuts, she was certain, for the blanket had fallen to the man's waist. She wasn't sure about the other, for chocolate strands obscured his features and the blanket and the count's side hid most of his torso from view.

With a fond glance at the count, and curious look at the man's bed partner, the maid stooped to pick up the elegant slacks and leather pants, both had spots of ink and needed attention. She gestured to her assistant to grab the vest and cloak; the young girl had cleaned the black prints from the floor and placed the documents on the noble's desk. Both then left, the elder maid laying the blades from the count's cloak and the mysterious man's pants on the wall side dresser.

Bastian moaned as the light passed through his eyelids and arched his back, noting a slight dip in the bedding from a weight against his shoulder. The weight growled faintly at being disturbed and placed pale hands on the sheet and pushed up, staring blankly at his companion through earthy fringe.

"Did I charge you?" The man asked, blinking and furrowing his brow. Bastian laughed and pulled the other against his side, careful to not disturb the bandage wound around the assassin's chest.

"No," Bastian replied. "Though I should request a payment from you for medical services rendered, my dear. A frightful slash I found upon your back, but never was I able to attend to it till a deep sleep had claimed you. Had to remove the sheets myself, with the blood so vast and spread." Volke felt along the bandage, pulling at the material slightly and noticing more material around his forearm.

"The kill was near the castle," The weary assassin began, rolling his shoulders and ankles. "I didn't stop to rest." Bastian nodded, swatting a hand when it continued to worry the encasing fabric.

"You were quite demanding before my assent, a rush I might deduce?" Bastian smiled at the other's glare.

"Professionals don't get rushes," Volke wheezed, the cloth around his throat restricted his ability to inhale. "I wasn't sure if I'd be available for future jobs, though, and I was pleased when I found myself intact." Bastian frowned, recalling the information he'd given the other.

"From my understanding, I believe that the felons numbered no more than four." Bastian said, leaning against the headboard and waiting as Volke rolled onto his shoulder and sat up.

"Recruited quickly." Volke replied. "Many more, most not unskilled." The assassin ignored the cramp in his leg and pushed the blanket away, standing and stretching. "I believe I remember you enjoying yourself?"

"But of course, sweet Volke!" The count exclaimed, noticing two cups of tea on the corner table. "How could I not, with your exquisite features so intoxicating? Oh, the sheer bliss that I did experience-"

"Save it," Volke interrupted. "I'm leaving, I have more important things to do than listen to your chatter."

"I thought we'd have breakfast and then have one of our lovely clerics tend to your down trodden body, you've lost a dreadful amount of blood." Bastian retorted with a frown, noting the sun's high position on the wall.

"Two hundred thousand."

"Pardon?" Bastian blinked as Volke took a ginger step away from the bed, scowling at the disappearance of his clothes and ignoring the slight waver in his legs.

"Breakfast, two hundred thousand. Take it or leave it."

"Well," the count began, rubbing his chin with a hand. "Given the number of jobs I've assigned you…" Bastian held out a hand and counted, then furrowed his brow, and then grinned. "Ho ho! I believe I will have your breakfast paid in full by month's end! Is that acceptable?" Volke crossed his arms and raised a brow at the count, still turned away.

"Enlighten me." Bastian gazed at the figure with half-lidded eyes. Lean, pale, and so very interested, as the sage could tell from the other's unguarded, clean face.

"You recall, dear Volke, that with each job you received an additional payment; a bonus, if you will," The other nodded, a familiar glimmer in his gaze, turning and stepping towards the bed. "I, foreseeing such an event after you had successfully fallen for my inescapable charm, have kept these 'bonuses' in a separate account, to be used in service to you."

"Hundred eighty thousand," Volke concluded stepping closer to the bed and kicked his belt to the wall. "From the beginning of my assignments, to my most recent payment."

"Once you've rested for awhile, I've another few things for you; not currently pressing." Bastian replied while taking a sip of tea and gesturing to the second cup. Volke stood for a moment before he stepped forward and kneeled on the blanket between the sage's knees, draining the man's tea and replacing the cup on the counter table.

"You're a wolf," Volke decided. "A wolf in a fool's skin." A pleased grin spread across his features. "I'll give you breakfast on the house, the rest of the day and tomorrow as well," Volke whispered, leaning forward and rested his forearms on either side of the count's head. "You save up in your separate account until year's end, without raising your rate, then take me away from Crimea for awhile. A vacation. They can run without you for a bit." He pressed his lips to Bastian's briefly before lowering his head and whispering in the count's ear.

"Three hundred thousand!" Bastian cried; gripping the assassin's shoulders to look him in the face. "By year's end? Your hundred eighty thousand has been accumulated from over three years!" The other shrugged, golden orbs locked with emerald in amusement.

"You've got seven months, you best keep me busy." Volke replied, relaxing against the other when the slash on his back protested. "I'll stay with you until then, between my assignments." He continued, allowing Bastian to fold the blanket over his form. "You will be very disappointed at year's end, without three hundred thousand." Bastian found the pale smirking lips and descended upon them, a sudden fire lit in his core at the challenge.

"As it will be winter, do you've any place in mind? Should you like northern Daein, where the sun's radiance causes the fresh snow to glow like so many gleaming pearls outside a warm cabin, with an even warmer bed?" Bastian questioned, eyes bright at the possibilities. "Or maybe Begnion's southern isle, where the white sands toss in the pure breeze, and young lovers lay in the gentle waves, reveling in the Goddess' grace land?" Volke let his forehead rest against the other's shoulder tiredly, sighing as the sage's body quivered with excitement.

"Wherever you decide," The assassin answered as he fingered the golden hair, pulling the curls to their greatest length and releasing, amusement making the pools of gold shine as the strands sprung and coiled. "Let me sleep, else I'll raise the price." Bastian laughed happily, eyes ablaze with the challenge.

"Yes, and when sweet slumber has relinquished it hold upon your weary frame, we shall feast! Such a grand test you have placed before me, darling Volke. Such a splendid trial I face, and such a tantalizing prize I shall receive!" He whispered joyously. Bastian took the second cup of tea and brought it to his smiling lips, noticing the liquid swirl rapidly as contentment and enthusiasm took hold of his center, then taking a sip of the still-warm liquid.

The sun shone brightly upon the hanging tapestries, but Bastian relaxed beneath the covers, ignoring the mounting day in favor of the slumbering warmth at his side. The sage dozed lightly. He woke when the elder maid entered his chambers, surprised to find the man still in bed with his companion, and requested a healer, sending his apologies to the nobility. It was late before either noble or assassin ventured forth from the blonde count's quarters that day.

--

Because I realized my great love for Bastian and Volke, together. Nearly as strong as my love for Seth and Cormag, also together. Bastian's element is wind, as is Volke's. Bastian's a sage, all enthusiastic and such, get that he was moving the air currents in the room? No, I can't spell enthusiastic.

This Is For LegendaryArmor Because She Be cool. NOTICE! It is PoR! YAY! More BastianVolke! More SethCormag!

Ha ha! Volke's hair is now brown! As LA did so graciously tell me. Much thanks.


End file.
